Faces
by lactosephysics
Summary: Merida really doesn't understand poetry.


**A/N Same universe as 'Honestly'. Not necessarily a sequel, but it could be if you'd like it to be**

Merida doesn't get poetry.

She really doesn't.

Yeah, she read _Romeo and Juliet_ like everyone else. But, that was flower comparisons, declarations of love, and long-winded talks of beauty all fit into a comprehensible rhyme scheme. And, considering the fact that her mother spoke like the reincarnation of an ancient Victorian monarch, the language wasn't too hard for her to grasp.

Not her cup of tea, but she could drink it if needed.

But Elsa's cup of tea is from a completely different universe.

The poetry that litters Elsa couch and floor and nightstand doesn't rhyme and has line breaks in the most unusual places and they're irritatingly abstract and Merida has to re-read a nine line poem four times just to get the gist of what it's saying.

And then there's Elsa, Elsa who always seems to just _get it_.

Sometimes, when Merida is tired and nothing is inspiring enough to make her lift the lids off of her paints, she goes to Elsa's dorm and lies on her couch and watches her read.

It's vaguely creepy, she realizes, but anyone who thinks that has never seen Elsa in her element.

Everything about Elsa is wonderful, but immersed-in-literature Elsa is probably one of the most heart-stopping things Merida has ever seen (not that she would ever think such a thought unless she were sure that Elsa couldn't read minds).

She radiates calm and sophistication and it makes perfect sense to Merida why Elsa is her mother's favorite student.

Elsa reads over all of the lines in seconds, and she's gentle with the pages (suddenly Merida feels guilty and makes a mental note to be kinder to her paintbrushes).

Every now and again she trails her fingers over a poem when she re-reads it and pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose (_ye can't wear glasses. It makes no sense fer ye to look sexy when ye should look like a nerd_).

She sometimes bites her lip when she comes across something either confusing or nonsensical (Merida can't tell the difference because she feels both emotions when skimming through Elsa's books) and she twirls her braid around her finger when she comes across a relatable stanza before drawing a cloud around it.

Sometimes Elsa holds the page up in between thoughts and Merida spies the movement of very strong bones beneath the thin skin of her hand and green veins quietly pulsing with life and she can't avert her eyes until those fingers are snapping in her line of vision.

She looks up and she sees Elsa looking back at her with undisguised amusement.

"You've been staring at my hands for at least 2 minutes."

Merida shrugs," Ye 'ave pretty 'ands. And I needed to look a' somethin' else besides yer thinking face."

"My thinking face?"

"Yeh. When ye read something that ye really like o' when ye read somethin' that makes ye think about whatever profound things ye think about, ye put on tha' thinking face."

"Do I?"

Merida nods.

"It's a cross between a pup running into a glass door and a kitten being woken up from a nap."

Elsa cocks her head, "I don't…I don't think I understand what that's supposed to look like."

Merida waves her hand dismissively, "S'fine. Leave the thinking face and its details up to me."

Elsa pushes her glasses up on her nose and chuckles.

"Why did you need to look at something besides my thinking face?"

"Ye kno' how I feel about ye wearing glasses."

And now Elsa's blushing and covering it up with a mini-coughing fit and looking anywhere but at Merida's smirking (totally kissable) mouth.

_Works every time_.

"I didn't…no one's ever told me that I have a 'thinking face'."

"Well that's what I'm here fer! To lay on yer couch, point out things about ye and hope that ye have chocolate layin' around." Merida blows her a kiss. "And to think I don't even charge ye."

"Aren't I lucky," Elsa deadpans.

"Pretty much."

Elsa shakes her head and gazes at Merida draped on her couch in paint-stained jeans (that Elsa half-heartedly insists on soaking in detergent but secretly loves) and looking back at her with _stupidly_ adorable expression.

"Aren't you bored lying there and figuring out what kind of faces I have?"

"Nae really. Yer face is too pretty to be borin'."

Elsa blinks a couple of times, before her lips curl into that half smile that lets Merida know that she's said something sweet (_thank God she realized it because I was going over tha' sentence in me 'ead at least six times_).

She doesn't really understand poetry, but she understands Elsa.

Close enough.


End file.
